


veni, vidi, vino

by rainbowshoes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Fade to Black, Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mind Manipulation, No Beta, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Some book canon, Toussaint (The Witcher), Vineyard, Wine, light mixture of the canons, some game canon, some show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes
Summary: after settling in toussaint, geralt now has a vineyard - and a bard - to care for. but jaskier will take care of the vineyard (he knows an awful lot about wine, after all) so all geralt has to do is take care of him
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	veni, vidi, vino

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chryseos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryseos/gifts).



> thank you to Chryseos for being so patient with me and letting me switch up what i'd originally intended to write - this was really fun and very self-indulgent

They had found the old man in a crappy little tavern in one of the older and poorer parts of Bauclaire, one that reminded Geralt of years and years ago. It was the sort of tavern that he and Jaskier had usually deliberately chosen in those days, before Jaskier had any claim to real fame and notoriety. The crowds had always been small and were usually poor, but Jaskier had still been learning to read rooms, then, and more often than not, those sorts of locations were content to let Geralt sit in a dark corner with his pisswater ale and whatever food they could scrape together for him. Even if Jaskier managed to read the crowd wrongly, more often than not they would only boo him and demand different songs rather than throwing rotten food at him and chasing him away. 

It was with those memories and only-slightly-better-than-piss ale warming his belly that Geralt watched as Jaskier continued to chat away at the old man, buying him yet more ale. The old man was already listing to the side and beginning to slur his words, rather badly, but Jaskier urged him on with no sympathy. They'd been discussing wine for the last two hours, and Geralt didn't know Jaskier  _ knew _ so much about wine, much less how he managed to speak about it so endlessly. Not that Jaskier was the only one doing the talking. The old man had plenty to say in his own right. 

Geralt didn't know the old man's name - Jaskier did, he was sure - but what he  _ did _ know was that the old man had once been a vintner. Apparently, he had been of such high renown that all the kings on the continent had begun to bicker and fight for his special wine. It led to jealousy and hatred, and eventually, his vineyard was burnt and his family slaughtered. He was the only survivor, and he refused to make wine or share his secrets. And, naturally, once Geralt had become established at his own little vineyard in Toussaint and Jaskier had simply  _ arrived  _ one day and never left, well. It wasn't as if Geralt knew a damn thing about making wine - not good wine. And part of the stipulation for retaining ownership involved some tricky wording about bettering the land and prospering and other shit Geralt didn't particularly give a damn about. Anna Henrietta knew he was a damn witcher, after all. But Jaskier had taken up the task, had found this old man, and was determined to get the secrets of his wine-making success. 

The tavern was nearly empty, and the barkeep was giving them the stink-eye. Geralt nudged Jaskier gently, and he flashed Geralt a bright, brilliant smile in return before helping the old man stand and promising to escort him to an inn and pay for his lodgings for the night. Geralt didn't bother asking how he intended to pay for any of that - Jaskier always had money, from singing or winning bardic competitions or from his stints teaching or even his little dalliances as a spy (which, apparently, he had agreed to do so Anna Henrietta would consent to allowing him to remain in Toussaint - though she paid him well for his information when it was good and shouted him from the castle when he tried to deliver his reports in verse). 

The three of them left the tavern once Jaskier settled the bill, Jaskier and the old man leaning on one another - though Geralt suspected most of Jaskier's drunkenness was an act - and Geralt behind, watching in mild amusement and fond exasperation. It didn't take long to venture to an inn almost as disreputable as the tavern and just as striking in Geralt's memories. Jaskier negotiated for a room for his 'new lovely friend' and Geralt just signed and shook his head as he made sure they managed the stairs without falling ass over teakettle. 

As soon as the door was closed, Jaskier made the Axii sign behind his back, and Geralt signed again. He hadn't wanted to do this part. But he did, gently, send an Axii sign at the old man just as Jaskier helped him settle on the edge of the bed. Jaskier beamed at him in thanks as the old man settled peacefully. 

Jaskier kneeled in front of the old man. "Tell me your secret to good wine," he murmured, coaxing and gentle. 

The old man hummed and swayed a little. "'S a bad thing I did." He sighed and shut his eyes. "Had a long time to accept that - that what happened to me, to my family - was all my fault, really."

"I'm sure that isn't true at all," Jaskier soothed immediately. "Nothing could be so bad as all that." 

The old man looked at Jaskier and took his hand, patting the back of it clumsily. "You're young yet. May you never live to have such regrets as mine." He smiled sadly. "It was - was dragon's blood. I was young and so -" His voice hitched unpleasantly, and Geralt felt cold. "I was so very foolish. The dragon was just a tiny thing. Already injured. I found it by accident. Slit its throat and collected all the blood. Bundled its little body in a bag and carried it home. One drop in a whole barrel was enough - enough." He sighed and shook his head, his eyes distant and dim. "And I buried it in pieces under the vats. The magic helped, I think. And the allspice root and celandine, later." His eyelids drooped, then. 

Jaskier stood, then, and gently eased the old man into the bed. He took off his boots for him and draped the old, worn blanket at the foot of the bed over his body. The old man drifted into a snoring slumber immediately. 

"Well that's shit," Jaskier sighed. 

"We aren't doing that," Geralt said quietly. 

Jaskier shook his head. "No, definitely not." He turned and faced Geralt. "The allspice root and celandine is good, though. Might try that, at least." He shrugged and stepped closer. "Thanks, anyway." He smiled a little, then laughed. "Maybe we can call up Borch and ask him to come bless the vineyards or something. Dragon-blessed wine. Can you imagine? It could taste like piss and people would still buy it by the barrel."

Geralt shook his head, an amused smile at the corner of his lips. "Maybe." They left the room and headed downstairs. Jaskier asked the innkeeper to ensure the old man was given a good breakfast, then they headed out into the humid night. It was late, very late, but Jaskier only stretched his arms high over his head and shook himself rather like a cat. 

"You know the druids in Brokilon, right? Maybe we could set up a sort of trade with them for the allspice root. What would they take in exchange, do you think?" He smiled back at Geralt from where he walked just a few steps ahead. 

"Nothing you can offer," Geralt said with an amused smile. 

Jaskier made a face at him. "Buying as much as we would need is hardly cost-effective, though. And I don't know any druids." 

"Don't worry about it tonight," Geralt said, stepping close enough to settle a hand on Jaskier's back. "I'm still the only witcher in the area who's willing to take on whatever contracts come my way." He shrugged easily.

"Yes, yes, just because you have a home rather than a bedroll on the side of the road doesn't mean you stop doing your job," Jaskier said, waving a hand through the air. "Nor me, mine." He sniffed haughtily and stuck his nose in the air. "You know, Geralt, you should be thrilled to have me by your side as much as you do. Half the continent clutched their broken hearts and sobbed the day I decided to settle here with you." 

Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier's shoulder and tugged him close to his chest, bending just enough to nip at his jaw. "I know," he said in a low, quiet voice. He chuckled at the little smile on Jaskier's face. "I don't think I have failed to show my appreciation." 

"Only sometimes." It was a gentle tease, light and fleeting. Jaskier pressed a kiss to his cheek and then settled into step with him as they left the city. 

It was a lovely night. The stars were bright and the moon was full. A gentle breeze kept the humid air flowing pleasantly. There was a small group of drunken revelers dancing and singing - loudly and off-key - around a fire off on a hilltop not too far from the road. Jaskier stifled a laugh as two of them collided and fell into the grass. After a moment, a truly terrible rendition of "Fishmonger's Daughter" began, and Jaskier cracked up again. 

"I'm sorely tempted to march over there and snatch that lyre from those horribly clumsy fingers and show them how it's done properly," Jaskier mused. He tipped his head back on Geralt's shoulder. "But I'd rather head home, I think. It's quite late, and I know we have a few chests of herbs and other shit I can use to start experimenting with some of the very basic wine I've managed to make so far." 

Geralt pressed a kiss to his temple. "You work too much." 

Jaskier gasped, both delighted and offended at once. "Coming from  _ you _ , my dear witcher, that is truly hypocritical!" He snickered against Geralt's throat and nearly tripped over his own feet. Geralt kept him upright easily. "You, who doesn't know the meaning of a holiday?" 

"I used to winter at Kaer Morhen almost every year," Geralt pointed out. "That was my version of a holiday. All we did was eat, sleep, and drink."

"Wolf School hibernation," Jaskier snorted. He shook his head with a little smile playing at his lips. "Well," he said, drawing out the word, "if we manage to brew some halfway decent wine, you should go back this year and take a few barrels. I'm sure Yennefer wouldn't mind sending some letters to your little wolf pack and telling them all to get their asses there for the winter. Oh, and Ciri, too. She'd love that." 

Geralt hummed quietly. It was a good idea. Jaskier did actually tend to have those with surprising frequency, considering how often he found himself in some scrape or other. He let his fingers drift over Jaskier's bare upper arm as he considered the logistics of carting so much shit up to the keep. 

"You, too," he said suddenly, turning to look at Jaskier. Jaskier blinked at him in confusion for a moment, then his eyes went wide. Geralt rolled his eyes. "Unless you've got plans to head back to Oxenfurt for another winter of teaching or something. I won't begrudge you that." 

"I - hadn't actually planned on it, no," Jaskier said slowly. "I didn't know what I was going to do. It's still barely the beginning of summer." He paused, and then - "Wait a moment." Geralt smiled to himself. "You're finally inviting me to your super-secret hideout after - what has it been now, thirty years? Thirty-five?"

Thirty-eight, but Geralt wasn't going to mention that. "Yes," he said simply. 

"Yes, well, all right then. Fine. Peachy." Jaskier threw his hands up, exasperated but, Geralt knew, beyond pleased. "Nearly four  _ decades _ !" 

Geralt chuckled quietly. "Yes," he said again. "You don't have to come. It's nothing special. A half-ruined old keep, lots of snow, long, cold nights."

Jaskier poked him in the cheek. "You shut your mouth, Geralt. I absolutely will come, and you knew that before you even  _ asked _ , you ass." Geralt didn't agree because he didn't have to. They both knew it was true. He bit playfully at Jaskier's finger instead. "Animal," Jaskier snarked, waving him away but making no move to actually put any distance between them or worm himself out from under Geralt's arm. "Where's that xenovox? I'm telling Yennefer. Between her and Triss and me and Ciri, we'll make your old ruined keep lovely and lively."

Geralt bit at Jaskier's jaw again, lingering a little longer this time. "And what if I want you all to myself, hm?"

"Too bad," Jaskier said, pretending to be lofty and sounding much too breathless. "I want a proper reunion with some lovely people and my  _ favorite  _ witcher -" his breath hitched as Geralt pressed a kiss to his neck and lingered there, drawing his lips up to just behind his ear - "Eskel." 

Geralt broke away with a laugh, then. "Eskel? Really?"

Jaskier was trying very hard to hold back his own laughter. "Well, you're only very marginally better than Lambert." Geralt snorted. "At least he knows how to express emotion, Mr. I-Like-To-Brood-In-Dark-Corners. Even if it consists of mostly yelling and a lot of anger. Eskel is a lovely man, and he's perfectly polite." 

"All the more reason to keep you to myself, then," Geralt said. 

"What -?" Jaskier was about to ask something to the effect of 'what could you possibly mean by that?' Geralt was sure, but it was all too easy to cut him off. 

He bent and scooped Jaskier off the ground, making him squawk indignantly. He settled Jaskier over his shoulder like a particularly wriggly sack of potatoes and lengthened and quickened his stride without making Jaskier bounce too much. One of Jaskier's elbows dug into his back, somewhat painfully. 

And then he started singing. 

It was a song that had, predictably, never gained popularity, one he had written a long time ago. Geralt squeezed the back of one of his thighs as he listened. It was of Aelirenn and Shaerrawedd, the way she had led the fight of the young elves against the humans and had died for her cause, a beautiful martyr. The white rose of Shaerrawedd. He could still recall showing Cirilla the same place, could recall the way she had asked for a white rose of her own. He had tossed hers away, but Jaskier kept his - still had it, in fact. It remained inside his lute case to this very day. It was a lovely and tragic epic, though he only sang a few pieces of it on their walk back to the vineyard. 

The few young men who stayed out during the night hours, keeping a sensible watch over the house and the fields for bandits and wolves and other creatures waved to them, and Geralt waved back. One of them, a quarter-elf who had taken an immediate shine to Jaskier, joined his voice to the song as Jaskier switched seamlessly to Elvish. Geralt slowed just enough to let them sing out the verse and chorus, then opened the door and set Jaskier on his own feet before tugging him inside. 

"When we go to Kaer Morhen, there's a settlement of elves on the way. They would like to hear that song, I think," Geralt said as he moved around to light the lamps. 

"I'd be happy to sing it for them, of course," Jaskier said. There was no pompousness or gloating in the statement, only genuine feeling. Jaskier loved his music, loved to share it, loved to make people feel as he did when he sang it. He lounged against the wall by the door as Geralt moved about the house, merely watching. "And what sort of songs do witchers prefer, I wonder?"

"You'll have to ask them," Geralt said, smiling at him a little over his shoulder as he lit one more lamp. "All the bawdy ones, I'm sure."

Jaskier cracked a smile at that, and the mood lifted. "Yes, I can see that. Without witchers, I think half the whorehouses on the continent would go out of business." Geralt rolled his eyes at that, but he didn't take it personally. They had  _ both _ spent plenty of nights in whorehouses, even if Jaskier preferred to perform in most of them - at least first. 

"It'll be dawn in just a couple of hours," he said instead.

"Well then," Jaskier said with a smile that sent heat straight to Geralt's groin, "why don't we stay up and greet it?" He walked closer and tugged at Geralt's thin linen shirt. "And then we can discuss Kaer Morhen and our plans for winter and I can go experiment with wine while you nap before heading out to deal with the stupid giant centipede tomorrow afternoon." 

Geralt looked at him askance. "How do you know about that?"

"My love, I know everything," Jaskier said with a smile. "Now please, do shut up and kiss me." 

And, well, Geralt certainly wasn't about to deny him that request. He slid a hand around the back of Jaskier's neck and tugged him closer, kissing him deep and more gently than perhaps Jaskier wanted. But Geralt wanted to be gentle. He needed that, as he so often did. He was careful as he guided them toward their bedroom and shut the door behind them. 

Each movement was nearly reverent as he discarded Jaskier's clothes and his own and peppered all the exposed skin in kisses. There were old, yellow bruises mottled into Jaskier's skin from previous, rougher bouts of lovemaking, from where Jaskier had gone out to the vineyards to learn what was required to work them, from hauling around wine barrels, from whatever else he did while in Toussaint - likely more climbing over rooftops and out of windows than Geralt wanted to consider, so he brushed soft kisses and gentle fingers over the marks and ignored Jaskier's demanding fingers in hair and his urging to speed things along. 

He took his time, taking his lovely little songbird apart piece by piece until he sang only for him. 

It was only after, once they had cleaned up and Geralt had opened the windows to let in the gentle, cool morning breeze, with the remains of sweat drying on their skin, that they lay in the bed together, listening to the birds chitter in the gray pre-dawn light. Jaskier traced one of the scars over his chest as he was wont to do at times like this, and Geralt didn't consider stopping him. There was no judgment, no begging for stories, no curiosity. Jaskier had been there as he'd collected a great many of them, had even sewn together most of them. He had his own, as well, thanks to his involvement in Geralt's life, and some he had never spoken about - and which Geralt did not ask about, either. 

"Thank you for inviting me to Kaer Morhen," Jaskier said quietly. 

Geralt shifted his head just enough to look at him and found a small, pleased smile on his face. "I should have invited you a long time ago." He was comfortable enough to admit that, now. Toussaint had been good to him, was kind to him. So many places on the continent weren't, still, but Toussaint was different. "I'll never hear the end of it from the others." He sighed, and he could feel Jaskier's almost silent chuckle against his side. 

"It's nothing less than what you deserve." Jaskier was too tired to put on his usual airs, but Geralt knew the undertone and could picture it anyway. He pinched his side lightly in retaliation. Jaskier dug a finger into his ribs. "I'm not the boorish moron who waited nearly forty years!" 

Geralt rolled his eyes, then shut them. "Sleep, Jaskier. You can make fun of me again when we wake." 

Jaskier settled again and yawned. "Very well. This afternoon, then. And don't wake up and run off to deal with the damn centipede before waking me."

"I won't," he agreed with a low hum. He never would again. He enjoyed Jaskier's good luck kisses far, far too much. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://shyglittercreature.tumblr.com/)


End file.
